The pen hovered. Trauma was like excess baggage; too much of it, and the soul dragged its feet in the next life, leading to depression or artistic genius—sometimes both. Silas had lost his wife young. That was a heavy stone. Elias wrote: Grief (Acceptance level: High). He decided to let Silas keep the memory of the love, but not the pain of the loss. It was a generous edit.
Elias picked up the next file from the towering stack. It was heavy, the paper dense and slightly warm to the touch—a sign of a high-energy soul. He sighed, dipped his fountain pen into the inkwell, and began.
Elias smiled, picking up the next file from the stack. lic reassignment form 3857
He blinked. It was rare to process your own paperwork during a shift. He read down to Box 5. His own request was there, written in his own subconscious handwriting.
Elias imagined Silas—wherever he was—suddenly feeling a sense of peace. He imagined the wood of the violin curving perfectly under the hands of a player, vibrating with the sound of a symphony. The pen hovered
He looked at Box 7.
Elias was a mid-level adjudicator in the Department of Eternal Affairs. His job was simple: process the dead. Specifically, he handled the LIC Reassignment Form 3857 . That was a heavy stone
Elias flipped the page. Usually, souls requested "Wealth," "Power," or "Ease." Silas’s request was written in shaky, desperate script in the margin of the pre-death questionnaire. Request: "I want to hear the music again. But this time, I want to be the instrument."